by Elle Jasper
Through the darkness I run, haul ass, around the ancient stone structure and into the shadows. Abruptly, I halt. There in the gravel is a woman’s body. I fall to my knees, and even though I can’t hear her heart beating any longer, I still feel the pulse at her throat. Nothing. That’s when I notice the gaping hole in her chest, heart gone.
That’s also when I notice her lifeless eyes staring wide, frightened, up at me. Lips slightly parted. Lifting one of her hands, I notice her fingertips are scraped and bleeding. She might be twenty years old, if that.
And I’m too fucking late. Reaching over, I close her eyes.
“Let’s go, Ri,” Noah says beside me. “Nothing you can do.”
“Yeah, I know that,” I answer angrily. I rise and just walk off. Noah’s right behind me, and he leaps the gates a few seconds after me. Together we cross the street and head through the arches of Old Tolbooth Wynd.
“The only way to stop this is to stop them,” Noah says, and I know he’s right. “Stop the Fallen.”
Because apparently I can’t even detect when an innocent is having her heart ripped out of her body until it’s too frickin’ late.
My arm is grabbed and my body swung around, and Noah is standing there, holding me in a tight grasp. “Let it go, Ri. You have to. Let that girl go, and let Eli go. For now. You’ve got to focus.” His mercury gaze sears me. “I’ll be here for you. After. Okay?”
I stare at Noah’s beautiful features in the moonlight, and the slender dreads that have escaped the leather band holding them back. He looks nothing like Eli, yet he reminds me of him every time I look at him. Reminds me of what I have to do now. “Yeah, I know,” I answer. “I will.”
Noah play-slaps my cheek. “That’s my kick-ass girl. Now let’s go see what the relic says. Jake took it up to Sydney.”
Giving Noah a nod, we continue up the wynd near the Crescent gates, and Peter must have known we were coming because the gates are open. The ringing in my ears grows louder and louder again. Damn, I might have to get that checked out. The closer we move to the front door, the louder it grows in my head. At the doorway, I stumble to my knees and cup my ears.
“Ri, what’s wrong with you?” Noah asks. He’s kneeling down, his hand on my back.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I think I have something wrong with my ears,” I push my palms tighter against my head. “This humming is nonstop.”
Noah helps me stand. “Well, come on. Let’s get you inside, human,” he says.
I concentrate once more on siphoning the sound out of my head. It takes more concentration than before, but I do it. It’s still in there, and it still hurts, but it’s dull. Dull enough for me not to be babied and carried to my room. “I’m okay,” I assure Noah. “Let’s find the others.”
Inside, we find the others gathered in the library.
Jake looks up when we enter. “I’m sorry, Riley. I could’ve told you what you’d find,” he says solemnly. “No matter how fast you are, if a Jodís gets there first, there’s virtually no hope for the innocent.”
“That’s pretty obvious,” I say. “I used top speed to get there and still didn’t make it.”
“The Fallen may have created the Jodís with the power of shifting,” Gabriel says, his deep voice and odd accent breaking the air.
“Shifting?” I ask.
“Aye, space. From here to there,” Gabriel says. “’Tis an ancient, magical way of transportation created by the Fae, back before Scotia was even Scotia. If ’tis a verse they can recall, they’ll use it.”
“Then why don’t they just shift the entire body?” asks Lucian. “Why take their heart? Why so brutal?”
Gabriel rubs his jaw. “I can only imagine they’re working with verra little in the form of common sense and intelligence with the Jodís,” he answers. “They’re conjured creatures, dunna forget. ’Tis easier for them to comprehend short commands. Like to bring just the part they need.”
“Okay, I’ve got it,” Sydney says from her corner desk. On it, lying atop a soft cloth, she has the aged cross Ginger found in the catacombs. Sydney stares through a large magnifying glass eyepiece. She lowers the piece and looks at us. “It reads—” Then she reads the inscription out loud and the language almost hurts to hear it. It’s completely incomprehensible. Dolphins might as well be talking. It’s that odd. I almost cover my ears.
“Basically it says, Wherein the hallowed ground of the remnants that battled the painted warriors from the north, in the center of such a mass grave of bloodshed, lies what you seek. No matter time, ’twill remain the same until the one who reads it releases it. Oh— ouch! Shit!” Sydney drops the relic onto the table and blows on her fingertips.
The moment the last word leaves Sydney’s mouth, the cross turns red like embers, and as it lies on the table, it literally bursts into flames. Suddenly, the vicious humming inside of my head weakens. I take in a deep breath. The pain is gone. The humming is still there, but so faint, I can barely hear it. Sydney jumps back, and Gabriel grabs her by the arm and pulls her away from the table.
We stare as the cross turns to cinders.
“I hope you have that memorized,” Noah says, then shakes his head. “Damn.”
“Yeah, I do,” Sydney answers. “And I wrote it down.” She looks at Gabriel. “Didn’t expect that.”
“Nor I,” he returns. He looks at Jake. “’Tis a puzzle that requires more searching. Edinburgh is an ancient city, and before the castle was built, battles raged and lives ended.” He looks at Darius. “We’ve got to find the spot where the Caledonians battled.”
“Who are the they?” I ask.
“The early Picts,” Darius answers. “Savage fighters, they tattooed their faces and bodies to terrorize their opponents and make themselves seem more brutal.” He half grins. “Gawan of Conwyk is such. As am I.”
“Then you should know precisely where to look.” Victorian, who sits quietly in a far corner, is listening. He glances at me, his eyes warm and somewhat sorrowful.
“I know where to start,” Darius claims. “Much has changed over the centuries. The landscape, the construction—while ancient in truth ’tis still changed from back then.” He glances at Jake. “’Twill take some time.”
Sirens from Canongate blast through the night, and I know the girl’s body has been found at the kirk. It sickens me. A family’s lives will forever be changed as they mourn the loss of their loved one. All because some selfish bastards want to remain on earth forever.
On the far wall, the flat screen is on a local news channel.
“Hey, turn that up,” I say, and Noah takes the remote and turns up the volume. Moving closer, I sit on the arm of the sofa next to him and watch.
“Edinburgh’s streets are in peril after the discovery of yet another body found earlier this evening,” the reporter says. “A young male, approximately age nineteen, was found on the banks of the Firth. His identification is being withheld until all family have been notified. This makes the fourth young person in two weeks. Meanwhile, near Niddry street, another person has been found completely reduced to ashes. Is there a curse on Edinburgh?”
“Five,” I say under my breath, thinking of the poor girl who was just slaughtered in the kirk yard. “Seriously? A curse? They have the balls to say that on TV, with family members watching?” I shake my head and pace. “Fucking idiot reporters.”
The reporter continues. “Is there a serial killer running amok in the streets of Old Town? The police are out in full swing to catch the person responsible for these heinous acts.”
I stare at the flat screen and fixate on the video coverage. A black body bag is being hauled up the banks of the Firth by officers. Inside lays the heartless body of an innocent. Another one.
Weariness sets in, and I can feel my narcoleptic sleep about to kick in.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” Noah says beside me. He grins. “I can see it on your face. You’re about to go out.”
“I’m okay,” I answe
r, and rise from the arm of the sofa. “I can make it alone.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, though.” I cock my head. “You’re kinda sweet when you’re not being a prick, Miles.”
Noah shrugs. “What can I say?”
I shake my head and start across the library. As I pass Jake, I stop and look up at him. “I’ll only sleep a few hours. We gotta end this. Fast.”
His green gaze sweeps over me. “I know. Go rest.”
With a slight nod, I leave. No sooner do I hit the staircase than a presence is felt, and I immediately know who it is.
“What if you fall out while walking the stairs?” Victorian says. “You could hurt yourself.”
I stop, turn, and stare up into Vic’s brown gaze. “Nice try. I’ve fought and killed rogue vampires. You think a little tumble down a staircase will hurt me?”
With a shrug, Victorian places his hand to my lower back, and gives a little pressure to urge me to continue up the stairs. With him. He grins. “It’s the only thing I could think of.”
“Right,” I answer, and begin the climb. The staircase is lit with muted amber lamps that cause shadows to dance on the walls as we pass. It’s drafty, cool, and eerily quiet. We’re almost to the landing to the second floor when I go out.
Like a light. Bam.
I vaguely remember arms around me, my body lifting up and seemingly floating down the corridor. Then all is still. I’m in darkness.
For a while.
When my eyes open next, the room is engulfed in heavy shadows. I’m being held, suspended in air in a pair of strong arms. Confusion webs through my mind as I focus on the person carrying me. Well-known. Closeness. Yet . . . not. A man. His features are obscured by darkness. But other things make me want to stay; the feel of him seems . . . familiar. At least I think so. I’m unsure. I pin him with a hot stare and a frown I can only hope he sees in the dark. “Let. Me. Go.”
Moonlight shifts into the room, and only a shade of his features is revealed. Something flashes in his darkened eyes briefly, and then it disappears, replaced by raw, male desire. Just seeing it makes the uncomfortable ache inside of me grow. He lowers his head, his lips touching mine. “Don’t leave. Please.” He sets me down on the floor, his body crowding me close to the wall. I try to push past him, but again he begs me. Pleads. “Don’t go.”
Releasing my hands, he drags a forefinger across my forehead, down the bridge of my nose, traces my jaw. His eyes follow his finger, as though amazed with each place he touches, and as though he’s never done the like before. Then he holds my jaw and tilts my head.
And his mouth descends.
As soon as his tongue touches mine, I lose control. I have no explanation; no reasoning. Only a strong sense of familiarity that makes this feel unstoppable. It’s Eli. As soon as I shove my fingers into his hair and pull him closer, this man, this . . . shadow Eli man loses control.
More than passion fuels his movements—I can feel it. It seems more like starvation, a primal, uncontrolled drive to satisfy basic needs, to mark what is his and to make sure no other dare try to take it away. That’s what it feels like.
My lips are soft, pliable, and desperately seeking. They all but consume him. The urgency in my touch surprises me; the scrape of my nails through his shirt nearly drives him mad. He grabs the hem of my shirt and lifts it above my head, flinging it to the floor, his hands replacing the soft cotton as he moves them slowly down my arms, my ribs. “I want to feel your skin against mine,” he whispers. Feather light, his fingertips trace the dragons trailing down both of my arms. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, and I find I don’t have the strength to answer him back. Sensations overwhelm me, every nerve ending is on fire, and there’s a place deep inside of me that is dying to be satisfied.
I watch him watching me in the darkness, and without thinking, I lift a hand and stroke his jaw, his lips. I feel his body shudder beneath my touch. He allows me to unbutton his shirt and push it off his broad shoulders. Taut skin is found beneath my seeking fingers, as are corded muscle and prominent, healthy veins. Large hands. Strong biceps. I still see nothing more than a silhouette, yet I want him so badly it hurts. It literally aches inside of me. I understand none of it. Neither can I stop myself. This is Eli. But why can’t I make out his features? Why?
As he peels the clothes from my body, I can hear his heart hammering against his chest. His hardness pushes at his groin and against my hip. With nimble fingers he unlatches the small metal front clasp of my bra and pushes the silky material to the side. His breath hitches in his throat as he stares at me. Then he turns me around. He says nothing, but his hands grasp either side of my ribs, then slowly begin to explore the intricate markings of my inked dragon. Callused hands slip around my stomach as his mouth finds my shoulder, kisses then my neck, then ear. “You’re the most exquisite creature I’ve ever encountered,” he whispers, and pulls my lobe into his mouth. I shudder, and he turns me to face him. With his eyes fastened to mine, he sweeps me up in his arms and carries me to a bed, where he follows me down.
Moonlight streaks in through the window in a single beam, and that beam casts just enough illumination for me to see the outline of his features. He’s . . . not Eli. He’s breathtaking. I don’t know him. Yet . . . the familiarity of him stuns me, urges me to touch him, return his kisses, and arch into his embrace. I can’t stop. Is this Eli? My heart tells me it is. Yet my eyes reveal differently. The moonlight bathes his skin, making it strangely luminescent in the small hours of the night. He’s stretched over me. Somewhere we both lost our clothes and are nothing but skin against skin. I arch into him and reach for him, my hands slipping over his muscular chest, then around his corded neck. It makes my skin tingle, my nerve endings sizzle. Blood pounds through my veins and rushes to my groin as his fingers trail my stomach, smoothing the feminine muscles there, tracing my ribs.
My own nimble fingers trace the muscles in his back, down his sides, and between us, where his thick hardness pushes heavily against my thigh. I grasp it—soft, hard, velvety—and a low growl emanates from his throat. Lowering his head, he brushes his mouth across mine, tasting with his tongue and holding my jaw still with his hand. His kiss is . . . internal. Exploring. Soulful. I never want it to stop. . . .
He’s wedging hips between my legs, his weight braced on one forearm. The firm peaks of my breasts brush his chest, and he shudders. Staring down, his eyes sadden. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he whispers, and kisses me. “I’m not . . . Forgive me.”
My body is alive with more sensation than I can handle, and my mind won’t process his words. Not now. All I want is feeling.
All I want is him. “Eli, please,” I whisper.
With anxious fingertips, I trace his spine from his neck to his waist, counting each vertebra, lining each muscle as they tense under my touch. Slowly I lift my legs and pull my heels against his buttocks, hooking them around his hips.
I can feel his heart slam against his ribs, and I know he can take it no more.
Lowering his head, he takes my mouth as though savoring every inch of my lips, tasting with his tongue, and I kiss him back with desperate fervor. Skimming my hips, my stomach, he cups one breast and deepens the kiss, our tongues entwined, and the intensity of the dual contact makes his arousal push hard against me. Inside, my body is wrenching for release.
Again I arch and push against him, then grab his neck and pull his head down to my bare chest. He tastes the soft rise of my breast, dragging his mouth erotically over it, tasting the aroused peak. I think I’ll lose my mind.
My breath catches and I moan—a soft whimper that doesn’t even sound like me. I can’t help it.
With a hard yank, I pull his head to my mouth, where I kiss him, sweeping my tongue across his bottom lip, then gently take it between my teeth. “Now,” I demand on a hoarse whisper. “I want you now, Eli. Please.”
We stare at each for the space of a second, eyes locked. This . . . figment of my imagination shifts his hips and
fills me in one slow thrust. I moan out loud as my wet heat envelopes him, holds him, forces his eyes to close, and he shakes with aroused need.
“Christ, Riley,” he mutters against my throat as he starts to move inside me, reaching for a destination singularly his, the wild need to claim it growing with each powerful, primal thrust.
The mounting eruption within him grows at an uncontrollable speed and I can feel it, just as I feel my own, and he drives into me with furious passion.
My own savage response shocks me, and I desperately claw at him, matching his every move, pushing him over the edge until my name tears from his throat as he explodes inside me, over and over as he buries himself deep inside of me, his body seizing, shuddering.
My breath catches again and I hold him tightly as my own climax peaks and consumes, my feminine muscles contracting around him with each pulse of my orgasm. I bite his shoulder as its intensity heightens, little gasps escaping my lips; then slowly, with each breath, my body relaxes.
He rests his forehead against mine as our ragged breathing returns to normal. My arms go around him and pull him close. It’s not right. I can’t stop. Can’t move away.
Pressing his lips to my damp temple, he smoothes back my hair; kisses me long, deep, taking his time to savor my mouth; then moves to my side and gathers me close. “I am never far from you,” he says softly. “Even when you don’t know I’m there, I am. And don’t forget about my invitation. I look forward to seeing you there. Alone.”